came to a little white farmhouse and stopped again, and Tot was at
grandmamma's.

Tot didn't like being kissed quite so much all at a time, if it was by a
grandmamma. The chickens, though, were fascinating, and as for some
plushy round balls of yellow fuzz, rolling about--little ducks just
hatched--Tot had never seen anything at all to compare with them. But
there was a dreadful and discordant procession of big ducks that struck
terror to Tot's soul, and it was very still and lonely when the night
and dark crept on. The crickets and the frogs did their best, but they
only made it stiller and lonelier; and the hills gleamed against the
sky, and Tot missed her mamma. But yet, Tot was very sleepy, and the
next she knew it was morning and she was at grandma's, where Uncle Will
lived, and Uncle Will was coming pretty soon, and, better than that,
mamma was coming, too; and there was a little girl, a short distance up
the road, whom Tot was to play with, and then there were the chickens
and the ducks, and old Brindle and the pigs, and the pony and the hay
cart, and--yes, it was very delightful at grandmamma's.

Once or twice, during the next few days, Tot asked--preserving that
singular reticence regarding her illusions, so common to children--to be
taken to Sugar River; but grandpapa was busy haying, and grandmamma
said:

"Will will come pretty soon and he will take you."

"When _is_ pwetty soon!" asked Tot, in hopeless tones.

One afternoon grandmamma gave Tot and Susie (that was the name of Tot's
little playmate) each a fat hot jumble, and left them playing happily in